That Paradise I Can't Reach
by CreinMu
Summary: Something so precious, yet so far from their grasp. They could only cry in agony and fear of their individual torture. It will end, they'll make sure of it, no matter if blood stains their surroundings or someone else goes for that paradise. - A small story with drabbles of angst, read at your own leisure (and risk)-


**_A/N: Well, this little mini story will just be rather short drabbles of angsty things, from... well, this, to torture. I'll decided which to upload, since I tend to write a lot of depressing topics, so I'll get back to you all on that. Maybe be listening to Sekai Seifuku and Re-Education help with the mood. Also, notify or ignore all the typos that seem to be abundant in my stories._**

**_Anyways, enjoy and if you want, leave an umbrella(review) once you're done!_**

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The blood glistened against the cold steel blade of the knife, and he had to refrain from crying out in pain. He wouldn't – couldn't- let her find out about this. If she was concerned, he'd break and promise her something, promise that he wouldn't do it again when he knew that he would out of spite.

Maybe it was just a sick, sick game that he had to take part in. He could just be a pixilated character in a Japanese RPG, like Mad Father or Ib or Witch's House, just a collection of colored dots to make up the body of a small, masculine, fictional person. And as much as he wanted to deny it, he wished that was the case. That way he could follow the plotline, and, hopefully, end it all.

And as much as he wished it to be true, he had to deny it once again, for this was reality and dreams weren't ever allowed in his world.

Everything thing was thrown at him stack of bricks or a punch to the face, it was painful and maddening and downright insane and he hated it. She had managed to make it better, if only for a little while, and he was grateful for her presence, but even she couldn't save him from the shadows that covered his eyes, forcing him to see the cruel and quite frankly terrifying place he had been born in.

And a part of him wanted to stay.

He had always felt different and scared, like caribou in a lion's cage, just waiting to be discarded and eaten and forgotten. He had been told he was a prodigy on the violin, and rightfully so, but it had lifted virtually no weight off his shoulders. Staying was a personal hell, leaving was an angel's nightmare; he didn't have any options anymore because he never really had any to begin with. He was going against "fate", "destiny", "the natural order of things", whatever it was referred to and he would be considered selfish for wanting his own path, disobedient for wanting refuge, and he knew that.

And it _hurt_ so **badly.**

It was like the searing pain from being branded, like a cow or slave. That's what he was, a slave to "fate", as was everyone else. The thought made a small, emotionless chuckle rise pass his lips. The pain continued, blood dripping down his forearm and making its way onto the carpet, staining the once light yellow material a dark scarlet. It took him a minute or two to realize it was _his_ blood, _his_ substance notifying him that he remained here, in this damned world, away from what he wanted and craved. That thick, red liquid was stopping him from achieving what he wanted to do for a long time now, but a once-discarded thought came back from months of abandonment.

_What would _she_ think about this?_

At the time the thought rose, and even now, he felt an inner turmoil that could either disappear or worsen, and it had been worsening as time went on. His eyes had dulled and darkened, the once light azure gaze turned into an indigo scowl, smiling and acting happy, whether forced or genuine, was something that he knew he was no longer capable of.

It was painful, thinking of the outcome. No matter which way he went, no matter if it was personal refuge or imprisonment, it guaranteed someone's sorrow. Seeing her crying was something he had only experienced once, and it was, again, his fault. That day he remembered clearly.

"_L-Len! What are you…?" A small sob escaped from her mouth as her words met deaf ears, his eyes shining in dark intent. She had noticed his change in behavior, and it wasn't recent. He had been that way since he met her but she never noticed until now, when everything was so horrible, when he was so broken, so far gone._

_Maybe he was always like this, she wondered._

_He could see her confusion and her rage directed not at him, but at the knife. He chuckled, the sound cracked and raspy from his ears, but dark and clear to hers, and as he watched her flinch he forced himself to speak, no matter how much he knew it hurt him._

"_I can't say I'm sorry," he began, "But I understand that you're worried. Don't be, because I'm certainly not a person you should worry over. I always wondered why you didn't give up on me, like how some others had, and I still do. Maybe it's because you're persistent." She stayed quiet for a while and he continued._

"_We're both foolish, going after an ending we both know will only end in tragedy. It's almost _annoying_ how hard you try for me, none of it helps! I'm still that kid I always was, the one who hid in the shadow of others, the one who is nothing but a pile of _wasted energy and space_. Why can't you see that?! You're not stupid, you're not blind or deaf, you're intelligent and anyone with a mind can tell that ending this is the only solution for me!"_

"_You're wrong!"_

"_How am I wrong? Prove it to me!"_

_She stood there, staring blankly at the boy in front of her. Her gaze was almost as icy as his, almost terrifying, and he felt himself shrink under it._

"_Do I need to prove to you that you're not worthless," she asked and he could tell she was going to cry, but he remained silent and she continued, "When you're happy, you're fun to be around and you make people happy! You make _me_ happy! You are not perfect, you are not what you think you should be, but when has that ever been a bad thing?! When was being up to code something you've strived for!?" A few tears ran down her face and she looked down, hands clenched into fists, her tears making a small plip against the tile floor. "What happiness will you get from ending it? Tell me."_

_He wanted so bad to answer her, to prove that he was right because he always hated being wrong, but even in his head, the answer was never quite clear. She watched him contemplate his answer before hanging his head in defeat, his aureolin bangs shadowing over his darkened irises. She had known from the start that he would never be able to answer, and she knew that he loathed being wrong._

_If I had taken that in account before, maybe… the thought ended there as she looked Len over. She could feel him flinch under her intense stare, even if his eyes made no connection to hers. The aura of absolute defeat filled the room and both of them knew who it came from. The knife made connection to the rug, a dull thud sounding in the dead silent room. The blood stained on the steel made its mark on the carpet, the once cornflower shade of blue turning into a dark indigo, strikingly similar to its old hosts eyes, dull and empty and soulless._

_She had forced him to patch up the new wound, had she known he had done this approximately twenty times she would go insane, he knew, and the scars had quickly faded. When she turned around to go find a new shirt for him, the blood from his wrist staining his clothes a dark red, he could have sworn he had heard her let out a wail._

_It broke his heart to see her crying over him, over someone so insufficient, insignificant, _and worthless_._

_He was not going to drag her into his hellhole of problems. That was the last thing he wanted._

"_Angels are forbidden to converse with demons and we had been breaking that rule for long enough."_

As the memory slowly faded with the pain, he thought over what he had mumbled that day, when Rin left to get his shirt. Angels and demons… such a controversial thing he had said. It wasn't like him at all.

But then again, he hadn't really been "himself" lately, had he?


End file.
